Blood Debts

The drive to the summer house felt longer than Celia remembered.

Pale light spilled through the clouds, turning the hills into ghosts of themselves. The road twisted through memory: childhood summers filled with laughter, picnics under the sycamores… and shadows she hadn't noticed back then.

She parked by the gates, engine still ticking as she stepped out. The air smelled of wet leaves and old wood.

Inside, the house felt like a mausoleum — every picture frame a ghost, every creak of the floorboards a whisper of the past.

Celia paused by the fireplace Elise had mentioned, her heart pounding.

What if it changes everything?

She pressed trembling hands to the stones, searching until her fingers found a hidden seam. Dust spilled as the panel gave way.

Inside lay a worn cedar box, its brass clasp tarnished. Celia hesitated, breath shallow, then opened it.

A stack of letters, tied with silk ribbon yellowed by time. A locket. And a single photograph — so old it was nearly faded to sepia.

In the photograph, her mother stood laughing, younger, eyes bright with something like reckless hope. Beside her, a man Celia had never seen before: dark hair, sharp jaw, a gaze that felt unsettlingly familiar.

Her heart stuttered as she realized: He looked like Julian.

She unfolded the first letter, ink curling in an elegant, almost impatient hand:

My love, it was never meant to be ours. But I would burn the world to see you smile again…

The words blurred as tears stung her eyes.

Who was he? And why had her mother buried this part of herself so deeply?

A sound behind her snapped Celia's head up — floorboards groaning under quiet steps.

"Celia?" Julian's voice, low, uncertain.

"What are you doing here?" she rasped, clutching the box as if it might vanish.

"I followed you," he confessed. "I had to know if you were okay."

The sight of him, rain-damp hair clinging to his forehead, something raw in his eyes — it broke something inside her resolve.

"You shouldn't have come," she whispered.

"I couldn't stay away," he murmured. "I saw your face after you left Elise. I knew you'd come here."

Celia sank onto the hearth, exhaustion creeping through her bones. Julian stepped closer, gaze falling on the letters.

"Your mother kept them from you," he said gently.

"And now I don't know who I am," Celia choked out. "Everything I thought was true… isn't."

Julian knelt before her, his voice rough with honesty. "You're still you, Cee. No secret can change that."

"Don't call me that," she whispered, but the plea felt weak.

"Why?" he asked softly.

"Because it makes me remember," she whispered, eyes burning. "And remembering hurts."

Julian reached out, fingertips brushing hers. "Then let it hurt. I'm here."

For a moment, the years fell away, and it was just them — two hearts caught between truth and longing.